


Infinity

by wreckofherheart



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, F/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Minor Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is the first time he has heard Peggy sob, and he nearly bursts into tears himself.</i>
</p><p>  <i>   ‘I don’t know what’s happening to me, Howard. I was stupid when I volunteered to participate in your experiment. I never thought it would come to this. What am I to do now? How will I die? Will I ever die? What would have happened to be if I was alone? Would I have choked on my own blood until somebody finally found me? I was in agony, Howard. I should have died.’</i></p><p>  <i>   And this is the first time Peggy has witnessed Howard without an answer.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Infinity

“Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair,  
but manifestations of strength and resolution.”  

 

 

 

 

 

_1948\. December._  

 

     Howard Stark is sweating in the freeze. Two SSR agents are giving him hassle, demanding he share his reasons for visiting, and Howard is uncooperative. Eventually, the SSR agents move aside and allow him through after a relatively impatient reminder that he is, indeed, a genius and can, if he so wished, have them sacked.

     It’s not the SSR agents which make him sweat. Howard only gets this way when he panics, or, to be exact, when something doesn’t necessarily go to plan. So he unloads his grief on Peggy: the serum is perfect, it’s better than perfect, but their patient has suddenly dropped out of the experiment. He doesn’t want the serum, which is extremely irritating. His blood type, body type, everything about him was an excellent match with the serum. How are they going to find anybody else?

     When Peggy volunteers, instead, Howard only hesitates once.

x

     The injection doesn’t hurt. Not immediately. It burns, and keeps her awake all night, but she’s handled worse pain. The following morning, she’s well and has no excuse to not arrive at the office. 

     Howard keeps a close eye on her, even though Peggy insists she’s fine. A little under the weather, she says, but fine. 

     A month passes. Howard calms down. 

     He moves onto another invention, something about making cars fly. And Peggy _slowly_ climbs up the ranking ladder. Slowly. 

     One day, she’s finally offered a mission––worthwhile. A solo mission. Further East. Rumour of terrorist plots and such. She isn’t meant to do anything; just gather as much information as possible, and send it back to Brooklyn. An easy task, so long as she doesn’t get caught. 

     Brilliant agents are never caught. The most they do is cause a quiet stir.

     However, Peggy was not intending to bump into a young assassin at the time. She _is_ young, far too young to be in such dangerous territory. But her youth doesn’t stop her. Peggy is taken by surprise when the adolescent lunges at her. Despite her small figure, she’s strong and she’s heavy. 

     But she’s still young and severely undernourished. 

     Peggy manages to wrestle the girl to the floor, and restricts the girl’s breathing. As much as the girl tries to break from her grip, Peggy is resilient, and, eventually, the girl ceases moving and drops unconscious. Any wise agent would leave her; this girl is irrelevant to her mission, but when Peggy is able to see her properly, the scarlet hair, flushed cheeks, freckles, skinny arms and legs––

     ––she considers otherwise. 

     Peggy brings home mountains of information, and she also brings home a Russian orphan. 

     When the girl eventually wakes up, she is uncooperative, vicious, and only consents to speaking to Peggy. She doesn’t provide a reason why. It takes her some time to reveal her name, and all she allows is her first––Natalia. Peggy doesn’t bother pressing more facts about the girl.

     No matter.

     Because when she’s fed and healthy, Natalia disappears. 

 

 

 

 

 

_1949\. March._

 

     It’s during a wedding ceremony. A friend is talking to Peggy with much enthusiasm, asking questions obsessively about England, what it was like to grow up there; a typical American, fascinated about a tiny island which carries a reputation filled with fiction. Peggy misses England, but she’s never understood the glamour it allegedly possesses. Mind, she hasn’t visited in so long now.

     Maria is beautiful.

     That was Peggy’s first thought when she watched Maria walk down the aisle, her white dress light and feathery, draped over her body. She envies Howard in that moment. She envies him because he found a woman, a partner; a human being he could spend the rest of his life with. She envies Howard because he found someone so beautiful, and people like Peggy and Howard don’t deserve such beautiful someones.

     Her heart aches, splits in two, and she misses Steven more than she can admit.

     Before the honeymoon, Peggy is taken to the side by Howard, and he asks how she is. Of course he doesn’t care about her general health; he wants to ask about any side effects, and she’s slightly embarrassed to have forgotten. No side effects, she confirms, everything is normal.

     Either Howard is nervous or unsatisfied with the lack of updates. Either way, he kisses her cheek, and goes away with his bride. 

     Peggy doesn’t intend to stay during the afterparty, so she doesn’t. She’s never really enjoyed socialising, and prefers her own company. Isolation has always been good for her; she works best alone. 

     As she’s proceeding towards her car, which she hopes will start, her eyes catch sight of an elegant figure. It passes by so speedily, Peggy wonders if her imagination is playing tricks. It isn’t. 

     When she nears her car, there is a man unconscious, leaning against the boot. His mouth is taped, hands cuffed behind him, and there’s a letter stuck to his jacket. _Now we’re even_. She frowns, and then inspects the man. Instantly Peggy recognises him: the SSR have searched for this criminal for over a decade; a hitman, who also specialises in transporting drugs.

     Needless to say, Peggy is happy to see him. 

     She doesn’t go home that evening. She and a colleague spend the entire night interrogating the man.

     By morning, they have over ten names of criminals, and where to find them.

     By the afternoon, Peggy has a promotion dangerously lurking.

 

 

 

 

 

_1949\. July._

 

     There are side effects.

     Russia. A school is discovered; a school for girls. A school for orphaned and deranged girls. The school is abandoned, unwanted, and has not been used in several years. Probably not since the end of the war. Peggy doesn’t like the building. It makes her shiver, it disturbs her; something is not right about this school and then she realises it isn’t a school at all.

     This was a place where killers were born.

     A fellow agent is searching through a few files, left behind on the desk. It’s all in Russian, and he chucks it over to Peggy, hoping she can translate some of the words. She can, but before she’s able to read aloud, two things happen.

     The first thing is her coworker screaming.

     And the second thing is Peggy feeling a sharp, scorching sensation in her stomach.

     Her coworker crumples to the ground. Dead. Peggy gasps, and sees the small girl hurry away, terrified, maddened and vicious. She wants to chase after her, but Peggy is hindered when she looks down and sees a knife through her stomach.

     Blood doesn’t pour.

     The knife is inside her stomach completely; only the handle points out.

     Peggy groans, and leans against the wall. Agony aches through her, and she considers pulling out the knife. Common sense tells her not to do that. Keep it in, try and get out of the school–– _try and survive_. But when she moves, her stomach twists, the pain feels like a hundred volts through her body and she yells out.

     It doesn’t make sense why she does it, but something tells her to.

     Peggy grasps the handle and yanks the knife out of her body.

     Blood oozes through her jacket, and soon drips to the floor. Peggy presses a hand to her wound, and then she feels it: feels her skin knitting back together. Sudden stings, painful enough to cause her to stop breathing. She grimaces, and waits, the sensation of her flesh healing beneath her palm.

     Then it stops.

     The pain stops. The blood stops.

     Peggy rips open her jacket, her top, and searches for the knife wound.

     There isn’t one. It may as well have been her imagination.

     Except it wasn’t. She had been stabbed, but she healed. She healed at an inhumane speed; no one should be able to heal like that. The knife hasn’t left a single mark on her body. 

     The serum has multiple talents, obviously.

     As for its prime purpose, Peggy isn’t certain yet. 

     She searches for the girl, where she could have disappeared to, but doesn’t find her anywhere. 

     Another girl finds Peggy instead. 

     Perched on the rooftop of the school, still young, still sinister, but taller. ‘You’re wasting your time. There’s nothing left. Прошли.’

     ‘Pray tell why you are here, then, Natalia?’

     The use of her name catches the girl by pleasant surprise. She smiles crookedly. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know, Margaret. Ignorance doesn’t suit you.’ Before Peggy can respond, the girl turns and jumps off the roof, vanishing out of sight. A ghost, the slightest dent in her memory.

     Peggy returns home, a corpse to accompany her.

 

 

 

 

 

_1953\. February._

 

     Howard proposes a business deal. They shall manage SHIELD together, but Peggy will have ultimate authority: he asks how Director sounds. She consents, agrees enthusiastically, and the title agent is swiped off her name. Director Carter sounds good, very good; she is given a name which implies creation, order; she is a given a name men shall now fear.

     And about bloody time too.

     SHIELD struggles at first. The government loathe it, and employees drop left and right. 

     Its reputation is brought to light when word of a Winter Soldier hits the newspapers. The name is a joke, at first; mocking. Nobody cares, except SHIELD. Except Peggy, because while she analyses the blurry, black-and-white photograph of this Winter Soldier, she feels sick to her stomach.

     She recognises that face. 

     But that face will not recognise her, even if her voice, her eyes, cause the Winter Soldier to stiffen, stare at her, and then shoot in some maddening desperation to be rid of whatever she is.

     The next time Sergeant Barnes returns, he is not alone. A girl runs in the same pursuit, and they call her the Black Widow.

     Black Widow is a common name thrown around; female assassins from Russia.

     But she is _The_ Black Widow.

     The best.

     And this is the first time Peggy realises the amount of damage young Natalia can do.

 

 

 

 

 

_1957\. March._

 

     Tony Stark is born, and Howard is older. He doesn’t like his son very much, and avoids his family at all costs. Peggy wishes she could hate him for his lack of commitment, but she understands. She knows, deep down, she’d probably be the same. Family is too huge, too large. Family is frightening and when Howard arrives at her door, exhausted and in tears, she is suddenly grateful to remain a spinster.

     ‘You haven’t aged.’

     ‘I know,’ Peggy says. ‘You have.’

     ‘Thanks,’ Howard mutters.

     ‘And I mean that in the nicest way, Mister Stark. Men like you age like fine wine; the greying hair suits you.’

     ‘You’re missing out on something wonderful.’

     ‘It shall happen to me. Eventually.’

     ‘I suppose I never really thought it would work, but it has. The serum is a success. You won’t age, Peggy, and, apparently, you won’t die either. The serum has allowed your cells to regenerate at a rapid speed. A cut, bruise, even having your arm torn off and you’ll heal in no time at all.’

     ‘Why does that make me feel scared?’

     ‘People dream of becoming immortal. They just never foresee the downsides. You’ll outlive all of us. How does that sound?’

     ‘It sounds abhorrent, Mister Stark.’

 

 

 

 

 

_1957\. August._

 

     When she arrives home, the lights are on, and the door is ajar.

     Peggy never has unexpected guests. Nor does she have any friends. She has learnt, in the hardest way possible, that friends are too much of a risk. _Too painful to endure_. Peggy retrieves her handgun, strapped to her thigh, and cautiously enters her own home. All she hears is the _clack_ of her heels; the lights remain switched on, and her intruder makes no attempt to show.

     Her senses are sharp. She can smell coffee, and baked beans. 

     The kitchen.

     Peggy lowers her handgun, and steps through. 

     There the girl is. Long, red hair passed her shoulders. A tall figure, shapely, and a smile which can haunt even the toughest of men. Natalia eyes Peggy while she enters the kitchen, handgun now at her side. 

     ‘Pull up a floorboard,’ Peggy remarks, ‘What the Devil do you think you’re doing?’

     ‘I thought I would make myself at home,’ Natalia responds casually. She dips her fork into her baked beans. ‘And try your food.’

     ‘Get out.’

     Natalia looks at her sharply. The smile is gone. ‘Or?’

     ‘Do you truly think it wise to underestimate me? I will not have the likes of you stepping onto _my_ property.’

     ‘And why not? You stepped onto mine.’

     ‘You must be referring to the school in Russia?’ Peggy doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘That building was abandoned nearly ten years ago. It is no one’s property, therefore I was not trespassing. You, on the other hand, _are_. Please leave before I make this more difficult than it needs to be.’

     ‘Will you shoot me, Director Carter? I hear great praises about your aim.’

     ‘Would you like to be witness to it?’

     ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

     ‘Leave.’ Peggy steps over, and Natalia doesn’t move. ‘Don’t think me stupid, Natalia. I’ve seen your face; you, associating with the criminal they called the Winter Soldier. Tell me, are you asking for trouble?’

     ‘I don’t associate myself with anybody, nor am I asking for trouble. I am only doing what I believe is right. Your disagreement means nothing; you can perceive me as your enemy, but it changes nothing. I don’t care what you or anybody else sees me as. If I am your threat, so be it.’

     ‘I am not threatened by a little girl.’

     ‘Little?’ Natalia stands, ‘Surely not.’ Peggy feels her ears burning in embarrassment. Natalia is, at least, two inches taller than she. ‘I never considered you to judge another by age.’

     ‘There are many things you clearly haven’t considered about me. I won’t tell you again: leave, this instant.’

     ‘How old are you, Director Carter?’

     ‘I beg your pardon?’

     Natalia grins. ‘My guess is mid-forties. I know when you were born; you joined to help the war effort at a young age: sixteen?’

     ‘You don’t find it terrifying at all.’

     ‘Perhaps not.’ Natalia pauses. ‘What did Stark give you? To stop you from ageing?’

     ‘Something I am not at liberty to tell you about.’

     There’s fire, and danger, and hunger and a call for freedom screaming in those emerald irises. Peggy is transfixed and certain she has never witnessed a more beautiful creature.

     Now she understands why they call her The Black Widow.

     ‘How nice that must be; to possess any liberty at all.’

     She cracks a smirk, and steps around Peggy. She holds herself confidently, sure and certain of herself. She knows what she wants and she doesn’t want to stay any longer in this house.

     When Natalia finally leaves, Peggy doesn’t stop the girl.

x

     Tony starts calling her Aunt Peg. And Peggy wonders if he will continue to call her that, when he’s grey and old, and she, still young as ever. Holding his hand while he rests on his deathbed. 

 

 

 

 

 

_1960\. January._

 

     Politicians drop dead like flies. Some people (or _someone_ ) are trying to send out a message and their message is frightening and succeeding for the most part. There are no fingerprints at the scene, no signs of The Black Widow, or her frightening partner, the Winter Soldier. 

     After a while, Peggy stops joining the two together.

     Maybe their motives are separate after all. Maybe it was a mistake to assume Natalia would trust a beast like him.

     Maybe she doesn’t know Natalia at all.

     Natalia isn’t a criminal, she concludes. Criminals don’t help their enemies. Criminals don’t switch sides whenever they please. Natalia doesn’t even _take_ sides, for starters. She is her own individual, estranged from the girls she trained with. She works alone, and prefers her loneliness. 

     Peggy gets that.

     God Almighty, does she _get that_.

     SHIELD open the doors for agents with unique abilities. Peggy is frequently absent, stuck in her office, or out on a mission. Agents rarely see the Director now, and rumour floods the building. They know about the serum, they know Director Carter is seemingly immortal; she has skin of steel.

     Then there are the stories.

     Funny fiction which eventually transforms into something serious.

     They say Director Carter can take out a battalion. They say Director Carter has been shot over one-hundred times, and survived, without even a graze. They say Director Carter isn’t human; she’s a mutant. She’s something wild and crazy, and some of her employees turn against her.

     Director Carter is not to be trusted.

     She is too great, too powerful––too corrupt.

     They don’t like a woman with so much control.

     Howard laughs at their remarks.

     Yet, Peggy dismisses each of them. There are more pressing matters at hand, and she cares little for gossip. She, as always, knows her own value. Her own worth. What people say about her is irrelevant.

     Words cannot defeat an iron lady.

x

     Natalia is gushing with blood, and she shrugs Peggy off impatiently. They’re too alike, Peggy can see that now, because the girl––or, woman, she should say––refuses Peggy’s help. The wounds will heal. Peggy knows that. She’s certain Natalia has been through Hell and back, but that doesn’t stop her from caring.

     She refuses Peggy until there is too much blood.

     There is no medical help nearby, not that Natalia would accept it.

     She looks like a sixteen-year-old girl, pale and pressing a hand to her deepest wound. There are multiple; scattered across her thin body. Peggy encourages her to remove her jacket, to which Natalia eventually complies. Peggy tears at her trouser leg, ripping off the material and uses it as a temporary bandage, forcing back the blood so Natalia doesn’t bleed to death.

     It hurts, but Natalia doesn’t bat an eyelid. She allows Peggy to nurse her, and Peggy ignores her stare. It’s dead and disinterested, and Peggy can imagine Natalia looking at her the same way if it were Peggy dying. She imagines that and it causes Peggy to shudder. 

     They need to move. Although they successfully broke into the factory without being spotted, the alarm had somehow gone off. Natalia wasn’t meant to get hurt, but even the best make mistakes. She didn’t watch her footing. She slipped on some sort of oil, and was distracted for a moment. This almost cost Natalia her life if she didn’t defend herself in time.

     Not quick enough, though.

     Natalia may be brilliant, but she still has much to learn.

     ‘Come home with me. I’ll finish off there.’

     Natalia is on her feet. Peggy raises her brows, and follows suit, but Natalia has no intention to go back. ‘You complete your objective, and I shall complete mine.’ Peggy opens her mouth to protest, but Natalia has no patience. The factory is starting to crumble, they have what they wanted, and Natalia doesn’t have the intention to linger anymore.

     She is more acrobatic than Peggy, and agile. Natalia escapes the factory with relative ease, jumping onto each platform until she reaches the roof, escaping that way. 

     Although she shan’t struggle herself, Peggy has to take a much easier route.

     Two days later, Natalia arrives at her doorstep.

     She made another mistake, and her youth is innocent and sweet when she tells Peggy something is very wrong. The wounds are infected, and they hurt, and she’s sick, and she wants Peggy to help her. None of this is vocalised, but Peggy is used to stoicism; she knows it firsthand. 

     The wounds need be bathed, dressed and there is medicine for Natalia to take. Peggy is confident the woman will heal. This is nothing. While Natalia undresses, Peggy catches sight of a long, thin surgical scar below her abdomen and she looks away. Natalia has caught her staring though.

     ‘You can look.’

     ‘I’d rather not.’

     ‘Why? Does it frighten you?’

     ‘Not exactly.’ 

     Natalia sits and Peggy helps to nurse her wounds. She takes her time, and she’s soft and careful. All the while, Natalia studies her, as if she were a painting at a museum; something to be analysed in great depth. Something to be understood. A riddle nobody has been able to solve yet.

     ‘Do all of the girls have their womb removed?’

     ‘Yes.’

     ‘Why?’

     ‘Precaution, they say. We were not born to breed, Director.’

     ‘Why do you call me Director? You’re clearly mocking my title.’

     Natalia smiles crookedly. ‘I am not mocking you.’

     They don’t speak afterwards until Peggy is finished. ‘There. How do you feel?’

     ‘Born again,’ Natalia teases. 

     ‘Next time, you should follow my advice, and come home with me so I can nurse your wounds.’

     ‘Do you always talk to people like that?’

     ‘Only if they’re disobedient.’

     ‘How can I be disobedient, when I don’t even follow orders from you? To me, you are no authoritative figure.’

     ‘Am I not? Then what am I?’

     ‘Lost.’ Natalia stands, and zips up her jacket. She’s healthy again. She’s already recovered, ready to fight once more. ‘You’re searching for redemption, and still haven’t found it yet. You’re trapped in your guilt, Director. I can only imagine this guilt will continue to eat at you, what with you never dying, and everybody you love will passing on before you.’

     Peggy looks away, and washes the bloody equipment in the sink.

     The water turns red.

     ‘I have already lost everybody I loved.’

     She scrubs away Natalia’s blood, and does this for ten minutes. Neither she or Natalia say a single word to each other.

     But when Peggy turns to see her, Natalia is nowhere to be found.

 

 

 

 

 

_1962\. October._

 

     It is odd, when one misses somebody who isn’t a friend. 

     Natalia is apparently dead for a few years, and then she returns. She returns casually, with no invitation, and continues to address Peggy as “Director”. Despite what Natalia says, Peggy knows she’s mocking her. A peculiar form of endearment, but one Peggy tolerates nevertheless.

     She joins Peggy at the bar, and sees Peggy is on her fourth drink.

     ‘I wouldn’t fret, dear,’ Peggy says quietly. ‘The serum has not only made me immortal, but immune to any form of drug.’

     Natalia cocks a brow.

     ‘I can’t get drunk,’ Peggy mumbles. ‘And I miss the taste of nicotine.’ 

     ‘What else do you miss?’

     ‘Oh,’ Peggy sighs dreamily, ‘So many wonderful things. I miss opportunity. I never saw myself having a family but now? Now, I find myself thinking about it all the time. What happiness it could have brought.’

     Natalia loses interest. When she orders a drink, Peggy looks at her. Natalia is not wearing her usual attire; she’s dressed in civilian clothing, and “cute” or “pretty” are not words Peggy would associate with such a fierce woman like her. Until now, that is, because Natalia matches those descriptions.

     ‘Where did you go? All of these years?’

     ‘Around the world. I saw Egypt.’

     ‘Business-related? Or, out of pleasure?’

     ‘Can I not say both?’

     ‘You don’t take orders from me, so say what you wish.’

     ‘Most things I do are both, Director. Such as now.’

     ‘You waste your time around me, Natalia. I have nothing to offer you.’

     There’s a smile; a faint, innocent smile. The Russian stands, not touching her drink, ‘It’s Natasha now,’ she whispers, and there’s a sense of relief, of wonder, as she disappears once again.

x

     When Peggy invites Natasha to SHIELD, she outright refuses.

     She objects so viciously to the offer, there is fear that the The Black Widow may turn enemy. Peggy doesn’t share those thoughts though, and excuses Natasha when she wants to be excused. 

     She allows her to walk away.

     Offered security, friends, colleagues––Natalia would have been repelled from the idea. Monstrously so. Natasha, however, warms to the idea slightly. That is, if she didn’t have to follow orders, do what Director Carter wants. She is sick of orders, being told what to do; moulded into something she isn’t.

     Her past is a thousand knives in her back.

     Natasha can’t trust. Not yet.

     Peggy is old, and her age makes her patient and understanding. 

     (Even though she looks no older than thirty, and whenever she sees herself in the mirror, she doesn’t know how to feel. All she feels is a swell of pride for Howard because at least his serum worked, like it did with Steven. 

     The Director never dies.)

x

     ‘Who was she?’

     ‘A friend. She _is_ a friend.’

     ‘I thought you didn’t have friends.’

     ‘I do not, but she still is.’

     ‘She’s dead.’

     ‘I am aware.’

     ‘How did she die?’

     Peggy swallows back a cry. 

     ‘When I was younger, I was in pursuit of a Mafia. A rotten bunch of thugs. They knew about my relation with her, and targeted the poor girl. They questioned her, beat her, and she refused to share any details about me. Their last resort was to shoot her. But, I can at least rest in the fact she died instantly. There was no pain. It was instant.’

     Inspecting the faded photograph, Natasha thinks the girl pretty.

     Young, and pretty.

     ‘You like kind people, don’t you, Director? You fall in love with the innocent.’

     ‘And you do not?’

     Natasha cocks a brow. She drops the photograph of Angela Martinelli, and it flutters to Peggy’s feet. 

     ’I have no time for love.’

 

 

 

 

 

_1968\. April._

 

     France. The weather is rainy and cold. Peggy and three agents are in pursuit. They are younger than she, but anyone would be fooled otherwise. Their target has escaped and they’ve ran into the abandoned building he’s hidden inside. 

     They find him.

     An agent shoots.

     He hits the target, but he still manages to get away.

     Peggy outruns her agents and collides straight into her target. He turns on her, enraged and terrified, and he hits, kicks and tries to bite her. Peggy is used to such aggressive and mindless behaviour, and knocks him down. However, she doesn’t move away in time when he kicks her in the chest. 

     She loses balance, slips off the platform and her fall is tremendous. She hits the cold ground with a _slam_ , but it’s not the fall which nearly kills her.

     A pipe has gone straight through her ribcage. 

     Peggy is winded temporarily, and she can’t breathe. An agent hurries down to meet her, yelling her name frantically. Peggy’s lungs feel as if they’ve burst, and she chokes on her own blood. Her lungs are filled with it, and her body shakes and trembles at the shock of her wounds.

     The agent keeps saying her name, terrified and uncertain with what to do.

     Peggy needs to remove her body from the pipe. She needs to allow her body to heal, but her body is paralysed and she can’t stop shaking, and she’s drowning in blood. Fortunately, the other agent isn't panicking as much.

     When Peggy is helped to her feet, the pipe tears through her skin, and there is blood everywhere. Like an ocean. The worried agent starts panicking even more, and Peggy has to sit. Blood drips off her lower lip, and finally, _finally_ , she can breathe. Her ribcage fastens back together, her skin heals.

     And she wants to cry.

     She wants to cry.

     She should not have survived. 

     She should have died. She ought to have died.

     Peggy cheats death, and she endures guilt and rage and denial. Director Carter’s near-death experience reaches the newspapers, and there is huge applause and uproar about her survival. 

     Howard receives a telephone call that same night.

     This is the first time he has heard Peggy sob, and he nearly bursts into tears himself. 

     ‘I don’t know what’s happening to me, Howard. I was stupid when I volunteered to participate in your experiment. I never thought it would come to this. What am I to do now? How will I die? Will I _ever_ die? What would have happened to me if I was alone? Would I have choked on my own blood until somebody finally found me? I was in agony, Howard. I should have died.’

     And this is the first time Peggy has witnessed Howard without an answer.

     ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry this happened to you.’

     ‘Am I to keep going like this?’

     ‘I should think so.’

     ‘Howard. How is that fair?’

     ‘Many would consider you fortunate. Do you know how many wish they were immortal too?’

     ‘I don’t know what I am anymore.’

     ‘You’re still Peggy.’ He smiles. ‘Still the same determined girl I met all of those years ago.’

     ‘Pray tell: what is it like? To see yourself in the mirror and watch yourself age?’

     Howard chuckles. ‘Trust me, Pegs, you’re not missing out on anything special.’

     ‘I’m not looking for anything special, Mister Stark.’

_Just a quiet redemption. A way out._

 

 

 

 

 

_1968\. May._

 

     The entire day, Peggy watches over Tony while he plays in the park. He’s getting a little old for the park now, Peggy says, but Tony doesn’t care. He still likes his strawberry ice cream, still likes to make shapes in the sand, still climbs the monkey bars, still goes down the slide.

     Sometimes, he even comes rushing to Peggy, shouting, ‘Aunt Peg! Aunt Peg!’ holding an instrument made out of twigs. 

     ‘What is that?’ Peggy asks.

     ‘A catapult!’

     From barely anything, Tony can create masterpieces. And Peggy wishes the boy weren’t so like his father.

     She wishes he didn’t have such a doomed future looming over him.

x

     At SHIELD headquarters, there is silent fear over the return of the Winter Soldier. He comes and goes, and this time has left a mark. People call them terrorist attacks, but most agents within SHIELD know what’s really going on. Peggy is reluctant to assume Natasha is involved, so she doesn’t assume.

     Even when her colleagues do.

     She doesn’t return home until one o’clock in the morning. A normal time, when things have gone mad. 

     People turn to her for some sort of miracle. Surely the Director of SHIELD knows what to do.

     Frankly, Peggy is clueless.

     All she wants to do is grab this Winter Soldier by the scruff of his collar and tell him what’s what.

     But he is slippery, and he vanishes, and sometimes he’s a ghost.

     The door is ajar. Lights are on. Peggy’s immediate thought is the Winter Soldier, but that wouldn’t make a great deal of sense. It can’t possibly be him. There is only one other person who would intrude.

     And this person has done it before.

     Natasha sits on the edge of the kitchen table, leg over the other, and watches Peggy enter. Her expression is difficult to read, as is her manner. Peggy is on edge, expecting Natasha to suddenly lunge, fight her. Because maybe she is still associated with the Winter Soldier, maybe the change of her name means nothing.

     ‘You died.’

     ‘Not necessarily.’

     ‘I heard about your accident.’

     ‘You read, do you? Well then.’

     ‘It is unfair, isn’t it?’ Natasha leans forwards. ‘How the undead dream of dying. Every night. You long for that release.’

     Peggy makes no effort to retort. She’s done. Tired.

     Finished.

     ‘Please,’ she says, weak and breathless, ‘Do not bully me.’

     ‘You’re sensitive. I have hurt you.’ It’s an observation, not a taunt. 

     ‘What do you want?’

     Natasha elegantly slips off the table, and she walks over, shoulders upright, chin cocked back slightly. She stops, only an inch from the Director, and Peggy watches as Natasha’s cheeks flush a little. It’s a refreshing and wonderful transformation; suddenly Natasha isn’t as scary anymore.

     ‘I want to be close to you.’

     ‘I fear I shan’t be very good company.’

     ‘Hm.’ Natasha twitches a smile. ‘You’re a terrible liar.’ 

     Natasha presses her lips to Peggy’s, and she kisses in a manner Peggy never saw in her. She kisses lovingly, deeply; she kisses with purpose and an urgent need. Natasha kisses Peggy as if her life depends on it, and her fingers, hands, press into her coat, delicately prying open the buttons. 

     Both of her hands, rough and sore from her years at battle, pull out Peggy’s blouse from her skirt. She continues kissing her, tongue in her mouth, palms dragging under her blouse, over her bare waist, and then travelling up her back. She touches Peggy’s skin, the heat of her bare flesh, and moans at how good she feels. Natasha’s desire is clear and Peggy reacts.

     It has been years since she’s felt this pulsing sensation to have somebody so close, so near; wanted somebody’s naked body pressed against hers. Natasha kisses and touches her constantly, marking every inch of Peggy’s body, gasping and moaning lightly in response to every caress; everything Peggy does to her. 

     Peggy’s heart is racing the entire time, her body on fire, breathing ragged, and she endures an almighty wave of relief. Natasha rolls her hips over hers, hands, breasts, lips, pressed together, and she is everything she is not in battle.

     She is soft, gentle, affectionate and generous.

     This is the Natasha who hides behind her shield everyday; this is the Natasha only very _few_ know about.

     Natasha doesn’t ask to stay, but she doesn’t leave either.

x

     ‘What do you miss most about the war?’

     Peggy thinks; she thinks about the gunfire, the screams of men calling out for their mothers, detached limbs, the blood, death and cheer. She thinks about Howard, about Colonel Philips, and then she thinks about Steven and then about Bucky, and she catches herself smiling.

     ‘Missing implies regret, surely. I regret our time is not like how it was then. Which I do not. Our time is still difficult, still a challenge, but it is better. The days are getting better.’

     ‘I think you miss it. The war gave you something you can’t find anywhere else.’

     ‘And what is that?’

     Natasha comes up to kiss Peggy’s neck, ‘Respect.’

     ‘I have respect.’

     ‘Fear is not respect, Carter,’ Natasha then kisses her lips, and desperate for Natasha to not analyse her completely, Peggy brings her hands to the back of her head and pushes her closer.

 

 

 

 

 

_1980._

 

     SHIELD’s reputation improves, employees take over, and Peggy is shoved further and further into the background. This is all deliberate on her part. Peggy only involves her with the most esteemed agents, and there are few of them. One name passes, and she thinks it funny.

     Ant-Man.

     She asks if it’s a joke.

     It’s not.

     To her surprise, this Ant-Man’s name does not serve him justice. His abilities are fairly brilliant. A humiliating talent, but one which works regardless. He’s brought higher up the ranks, and is the trigger for more brilliant and well-equipped agents. 

     Other companies and rivals start to realise SHIELD’s worth, and cause hassle for its apparently _young_ Director. 

     Peggy gracefully beats the odds, though. She has many on her side, including an extremely enthusiastic agent called Nick Fury. If she ever has the opportunity to retire, she’d hand over her position to him––if only she ever had the opportunity. 

     She doesn’t look it, but she feels older.

     She feels like she’s seventy-years-old, and she kind of hates Howard for still looking so good at that age.

     His child looks just like him, too.

     Handsome and devilish.

x

     Natasha follows Peggy’s footsteps, and fades into the background herself.

     For a while, society is harmonious and the two women are allowed to share a little liberty together. 

     Natasha is never a lover, and not really a friend. Peggy wouldn’t call her an ally, either, but she’s nice to hold, and, she later realises, Natasha enjoys being held. When she consents to it, of course.

     Which is fairly rare in itself.

     Late at night, while Natasha lazily kisses Peggy to sleep, she whispers a few words which rattle in Peggy’s mind for days.

     ‘It must be a dream––to fall for you.’

     A dream. A nightmare.

     Unpleasant. 

 

 

 

 

 

_1991._

 

     Howard and Maria are killed at Long Island.

     The Winter Soldier resurfaces, and Peggy never thought she’d loathe a man until now.

     Peggy is mortified at the news, and when she finally retires to bed, she cries herself to sleep. By morning, she’s numb and tired and incapable of processing in her mind that her dearest friend has died.

     Murdered.

     ‘Tell me you had nothing to do with it,’ she pleads to Natasha. ‘Tell me, my darling, that you had nothing to do with it.’

     Natasha says nothing. Peggy cannot understand what the woman is thinking; how she watches Peggy, frowning at her, as if ashamed, as if disappointed. As if amazed somebody like Peggy could cry at all.

     They are not lovers. They are not friends.

     Natasha doesn’t necessarily feel compelled to comfort Peggy during this dreadful period. 

     There is some empathy, though.

     A little pity for the Director, who’s close to bursting into tears again.

     ‘I had one friend. One friend whom I could trust with my whole heart, and he has been taken from me.’ Peggy presses a hand to her heart, and gasps, ‘Everybody I grow close to disappears. Why can’t I have one thing permanent in my life?’

     ‘The only thing that has remained permanent is yourself, but that is something you asked for.’

     ‘I did not ask for this. For _any_ of this!’ She growls, ‘I shall make it my mission that the Winter Soldier has what’s coming to him.’

     ‘You cannot do that. You have not faced him; you do not know what he is capable of.’

     ‘How dare you stand in his defence?’

     ‘You mistake my concern, Margaret. I know him.’ She downcasts her gaze. ‘Intimately. I have known him for years.’

     Peggy’s lower lip quivers, ‘And you love him?’

     ‘I do not know what love is,’ Natasha replies bluntly, meeting her eyes. ‘As far as I’m concerned, love is for children. The blind.’

     ‘Love is a beautiful thing; something you must learn to cherish. Because it’ll be gone before you’ve had time to appreciate what love has done for you.’

     ‘Yet love has brought you nothing but agony.’

     Peggy exhales shakily, and a tear trickles down her cheek.

     Natasha looks away. She regrets speaking, because what Peggy says next makes the woman shudder in fright.

     ‘Love has brought me to _you_.’

 

 

 

 

 

_1993._

 

     When Director Carter eventually comes face-to-face with the Winter Soldier, it would have been her fate. 

     A grenade is thrown from one of the Winter Soldier’s allies.

     Peggy shoots in his direction. The bullet ricochets off his metal arm, and he homes in on her. The grenade drops at Peggy’s feet.

     She whips around, attempts to flee.

     The blast explodes the ground beneath her, and she goes flying across the road. Peggy is knocked unconscious when she hits the surface, and her head is cracked open. SHIELD agents defend their Director from further attacks. Peggy does not heal rapidly. Her skull is wide open.

     If it weren’t for the serum, the doctor says, then she probably would not have survived. If she did survive, then Peggy would have suffered Alzheimer’s Disease. All her memories––gone.

     The Director of SHIELD is trapped in a coma for three weeks.

     The Winter Soldier defeats her, and word passes fast. When Natasha hears, she does not react. She waits, waits for either the Director or the Winter Soldier to emerge first. Either one.

     Peggy awakens. Natasha visits her at the hospital, and is astonished to discover Peggy’s face, her skull, are still healing. She’s a mess, a result of her foolish endeavour. Natasha sees what the Winter Soldier can do, and she doesn’t know why she’s so surprised. 

     She doesn’t know why she cares so much, either.

     ‘I’m too weak. I lost.’

     Natasha is overwhelmed with a rush of emotions and she claims Peggy’s face between her hands. Peggy trembles, and cries quietly, tears pouring down her scars, and Natasha brings her closer, kisses her forehead. 

     She nearly cries.

     Nearly.

     ‘You are not weak, Margaret,’ Natasha whispers, ‘You’ve just been in pain for too long.’

     ‘I miss them,’ Peggy sighs, holding Natasha’s hands, ‘I miss my Steve. My Angie. I miss them so much, it breaks my heart. I dream of seeing them again. Meeting them in Heaven, anywhere. Seeing their faces in the afterlife.’ She jars her teeth, and scrunches her eyes shut. ‘But I shall never endure that joy. I cannot die.’

     ‘If it weren’t for the serum, Margaret, you wouldn’t remember them anyway. Be thankful for small mercies.’

     Peggy slumps, and Natasha’s hands slip from her cheeks to her shoulders. She holds her fiercely. 

     ‘Don’t do that again,’ Natasha murmurs, ‘I don’t want you to leave me too.’

     Peggy kisses her. ‘I’m afraid, my love, I do not have a choice.’

 

 

 

 

 

_2000\. January._

 

     A new millennium. 

     For some reason, Peggy is reminded of 1945. The end of the war; the end of an era. The day the world changed.

     Clint Barton invites the Director for drinks and she isn’t entirely certain why. She gathers his character: he, too, is tormented by a past he has no desire in revealing. His association with Natasha Romanoff is not mistaken, and when Peggy realises how prominent he is in the woman’s life, she has to trust him.

     She can trust a man who means well.

     Natasha says little about Barton, whereas Clint can’t seem to stop talking about Romanoff.

     A mutual admiration, a deep respect; the type of respect Peggy only shared fully with another woman. Her heart aches, and it’s been so long, so long, since she’s laid eyes on Angie. 

     She visits her grave. 

     Doesn’t say anything. Just stands at her grave, crying silently, hoping she might possibly appear again. Smile again. 

     Remind her what love really is.

 

 

 

 

 

_2003._

 

     Peggy resigns, and Nick adopts the role as Director.

     Natasha is content and, really, that’s all Peggy cares about. That and knowing SHIELD is now in good hands. The former Director looks about thirty-years-old, and magazines take an interest in her appearance. People worship and admire her beauty, and historians and journalists and whatever else are desperate to have interviews. Some even suggest a film should be made about her.

     As always, Peggy just snorts at the idea.

     She doesn’t want fame.

 

 

 

 

 

_2004._

 

     ‘Where will you go?’

     ‘Home.’ Peggy closes her suitcase, and looks up at Natasha. She has not been invited, but she arrived anyway. Not with any sense of purpose. Just for Peggy’s company. ‘England. That is where I’ve wanted to be.’

     ‘May I come and see you?’

     ‘Don’t be daft, dear.’ Peggy smiles. A sad smile. ‘You’ve never needed my permission to do anything.’

 

 

 

 

 

_2009._

 

     Every now and again, the former Director of SHIELD is asked to help on a mission. Peggy has all the necessarily skills, and, on occasion, Peggy agrees to assist in whatever way possible. 

     Her visits to the States are always received with the entire world knowing.

     Celebrity business has never been for Peggy, and people start calling her many wonderful things: Iron Lady, The Immortal Guardian, some even joke and call her Captain Britain, but Peggy never takes to that one kindly.

     Others call her Peggy, and Natasha calls her Margaret. 

     She’s never been fond of her proper name, until now. Until her proper name is all she has left. Natasha calls her Margaret on missions, she calls her Margaret while Peggy finishes her paperwork, Natasha calls her Margaret when they’re alone, wrapped up in each other. 

     ‘I think I’m falling in love with you,’ Peggy confesses.

     Finally.

_Finally_. Natasha’s expression doesn’t change. 

     Peggy can’t help it: falling. She falls all the time. She falls for the good, the kind, the sweet. She falls in love and it is her only redemption. Loving is her greatest gift, and she has offered Natasha all she has left.

     Despite her beliefs, Natasha can only nod, and smile.

     ‘I didn’t know antiques could be so earnest.’

     ‘Oh, come off it. You’re as old as I, dear.’

     ‘Perhaps.’ Natasha brushes the back of her hand across Peggy’s cheek. ‘I think I’m falling for you too.’

     ‘Are you afraid?’

     Natasha inhales, relieved Peggy knows her so well.

     ‘Yes, but I feel safe with you. I always have. From the day we met, I’ve always felt safe with you.’

     Peggy kisses her. 

     ‘Then,’ she breathes, inhaling Natasha’s familiar, sweet scent, ‘That is something we must eulogise.’

 

 

 

 

 

_2013._

 

     Captain America.

     They cheer his name, cheer a title which has latched onto his skin. They call for Captain America. His face is everywhere. In the newspapers, magazines, posters, everywhere. He is on the television, running frantically, aimlessly, in the large city of New York. 

     And he is alive.

_Breathing._

_Real._

_Alive._

     Captain America, Steven Rogers, thawed from the ice.

     A miracle. An impossible miracle. 

     Peggy feels the weight of the world drop down on her, and she doubts, doubts, doubts. She can’t believe a word; she can’t listen. She can’t stand the image of his terrified, beautiful face.

     She can’t bear the idea that his heart still beats.

     That his heart beats, and she was not aware.

x

     It is that morning, that day, when she is grateful, so grateful for Howard Stark. For his serum, for his brilliant mind. 

     She questions if she is truly dead. If this is finally the afterlife.

     If this is finally what she wanted for decades.

     When the former Director of SHIELD walks its hall, she’s met with smiles and salutes, and she isn’t forgotten. She’s nervous, doubtful, and her heart is in her mouth when she enters the room––

     ––and she sees him.

     Steven Rogers, young, pale and wide eyed. 

     The face of an angel.

     Peggy gasps, and smiles when he smiles.

     They share a glee which neither have endured for years, and, finally, _finally_ , Peggy is home.

     ‘Steve,’ she whispers, as youthful as when they first met. 

     ‘Hey Peggy.’

     When he steps over, she reaches out and touches him, and he’s warm. She can feel his heartbeat, can hear him breathe, and knows that this is not a dream. This is not the afterlife. This is all reality.

     Beaming, Peggy wraps her arms around the back of his neck, and embraces him with what little strength she has left.

     ‘It has been so _long_ , my darling.’

 


End file.
